


there's no place for us

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Brian is an ancient mythical being who wants a snack, Freddie is nearly that snack, M/M, Maycury Week, Mentions of Blood, Vampire!Brian, human!Freddie, vampire/human sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 04:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20540435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: There’s something delicate about this one. He’s short, a lot smaller than Brian, and slender with it too, all slim wrists and sharp cheekbones. When he tips his head back and smiles up at Brian, a dimple winking in his cheek, he keeps his mouth closed.Brian would quite like to see that mouth open around Brian’s name, but that isn’t what he came to the club for. He came to feed and the club is as good a hunting ground as any.





	there's no place for us

**Author's Note:**

> Day five of Maycury Week: fantasy AU.
> 
> I'm not totally happy with this but hey ho. 
> 
> Vampire!Brian and Human!Freddie obviously want very different things out of this hook up and Freddie is oblivious to Brian's intentions. Just bear that in mind if it's likely to bother you!

He finds him in a club, wearing trousers so tight they look like they’ve been painted on under the flashes of neon light. He’s swaying to the music with his arms looped loosely around someone else’s neck, eyes closed. He looks like he’s enjoying himself, but Brian doesn’t get the impression that it’s down to this club, or this song, or even this partner. He seems lost in his own head, in his own world, and perhaps it’s that which draws Brian’s eye.

(Or perhaps it’s the slender curve of his back, his pouty mouth or the silkiness of his wavy black hair; Brian likes pretty things and this boy is definitely that.)

He doesn’t waste time, walking over to the pair and waiting for the boy to come within reaching distance. Then he lays an hand on the boy’s arm and when the boy opens his eyes in surprise and looks at him, Brian grins, all promise.

The look of surprise lingers for a brief moment as the boy assesses him, but then he grins back and Brian knows he has won.

“Hey – ” his companion begins, obviously annoyed, but Brian quells him with a look.

The man looks back at him, just for a moment. He’s tall, not that much shorter than Brian, and certainly a lot broader. He looks the sort of man would happily throw a punch or two if slighted, and yet something about Brian makes him go quiet and still.

Brian dressed for the occasion, to fit in with the club, so his jeans and shirt don’t mark him as out of place but something else about him does, and this man can obviously sense it, because he doesn’t push the issue. He closes his mouth and looks away, and lets Brian pull his companion out of his arms and into Brian’s.

It’s harder to think of this one as a man, though Brian knows he’s fully grown by their standards. There’s something delicate about him. He’s short, shorter than the man he’d been dancing with and a lot smaller than Brian, and slender with it too, all slim wrists and sharp cheekbones. When he tips his head back and smiles up at Brian, a dimple winking in his cheek, he keeps his mouth closed.

Brian would quite like to see that mouth open around Brian’s name, but that isn’t what he came to the club for. He came to feed and the club is as good a hunting ground as any. It’s not that Brian has any trouble taking the ones he chooses – it’s almost disappointing, sometimes, how easy it is – but nobody questions two people stealing away together at venues like this, and that suits Brian down to the ground.

Brian dances with him for a while, to keep up the pretence. He slides his hands down the boys’ sides to rest them on his hips and feels the movement of his body. After a while the boy laughs and twists in his grip so his ass is pressed back into Brian. Brian can’t pretend he isn’t interested; he rocks his hips up against the boy’s ass, letting the boy feel how hard he is. Brian watches the skin of his neck prickle as a pleased shiver runs through him.

The boy stretches up onto his tiptoes, indicating for Brian to lean down so that he can whisper into his ear. It’s more of a shout, really, above the tuneless thump of the music and the yelled conversations all around them, but it’s for Brian’s ears only.

“Want to go somewhere?”

Brian looks down into the boy’s grinning face. For a second, just a second, he feels something that might once have been remorse.

But remorse is not for creatures like him, and this boy is sweet but he is one of millions. And Brian is hungry.

“We can go to mine,” he says. He doesn’t shout but the boy’s gaze is fixed on his lips anyway; he nods, eager and not bothering to hide it.

Brian slings an arm over the boy’s narrow back as they leave, just to warn off any wandering eyes that might head their way. Once they’re away from the heavy music and the crush of people all around, Brian relaxes just a bit, letting some of his magic seep out. It stops the boy from noticing when ‘just round this corner’ turns into a twenty walk into the nicer part of town, and when Brian notices him shiver, it prevents him from feeling the chill in the air.

When they reach the house where Brian is currently staying, the boy’s eyes widen at the Georgian pillars and he cranes his head back to look up at all five storeys of it, creamy white walls stretching up into the night sky. Brian’s eyes land on the smooth expanse of his neck and he swallows. His magic thrums in the air between them and Brian has to make a conscious effort to pull it back. He doesn’t want to overwhelm the boy just yet.

When Brian lets them in the boy’s wonder only increases; he looks around and asks in a hushed voice, “Which floor is yours?” There’s a certain wariness in the way he pitches his voice low, the way his eyes flicker around with a slight hesitancy, as though he expects a landlord to come and shoo him away and scold him for being where he shouldn’t. It’s… endearing.

“All of them,” Brian answers, nudging the boy towards the staircase.

The boy lets himself be pushed up the stairs easily enough but he still twists in Brian’s grip to shoot him an incredulous look. “What do you do?”

Brian laughs quietly. “I deal in antiques,” he says as they come to the first floor. It’s an inside joke with himself and he allows himself a small smile, but the boy isn’t paying him any more attention anyway; he’s been distracted by the paintings on the wall.

He makes a beeline for them and stands in front of each one to examine it. Brian watches his face light up, his gaze become reverent, and for a moment he’s tempted to ask the boy – well. Something. A question about his interest in art, his own artistic abilities, anything.

But questions of that kind are dangerous, because this boy is here to be his meal, and it is easier to feed when he has no knowledge of the personality and life that grows dimmer with every gulp of blood.

“Shall we?” he asks instead, indicating another staircase. His bedroom is on the next floor and he likes some comfort whilst he feeds; it’s easier for them both, anyway, if the boy does not suspect anything until it is too late.

The boy glances back at him and gives one of the paintings a last fleeting look, a tiny bit of longing in his eyes, before he nods and returns to Brian’s side.

He immediately disappears into the ensuite when Brian shows him to his bedroom. Brian sits down on the edge of the bed and listens to the sounds of the boy having a wash. Anticipation is beginning to tingle under his skin, at the back of his throat.

He can see it playing out before him in perfect clarity.

_He traces a long cool finger along the boy’s jaw. Pliant and trusting, the boy leans into his touch, offering his neck as Brian’s magic curls around him and whispers sweet nothings against his skin._

_Brian studies the exposed throat for a long moment, enjoying the prospect of the feast laid out before him. He can see the boy’s pulse beating out a slow, sensual rhythm. Brian’s mouth waters. He leans in and bites._

_The boy jerks in shock, crying out automatically – even through the dreamy haze surrounding him he can doubtless feel the pain of the bite, the sense of his life force being taken from him. He tries to twist away, weakly, but Brian’s arm is curled tight around the boy’s middle. There is no escape._

_Eventually, the boy sags against him in his grip, too weak to hold his own weight. Brian lifts his head at last, mouth wet and vivid red, and carries his meal over to the bed. He lays the boy down and settles back into position to finish. The boy makes a noise that might have been a sob of protest, had he the strength to do so._

_“Hush, little one,” Brian murmurs against the crook of his neck. “It will be over soon.”_

_And it will; there will be no pain after this, Brian knows, only a creeping cold and the last of Brian’s magic, lulling him into the dark._

“Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”

Brian looks up. The boy tilts his head and looks at Brian expectantly. Waiting.

“Second drawer to the left,” Brian says after a moment. It takes him a moment to shake off the daydream; in his mind his mouth is still full of this boy’s blood.

“Thanks.” The boy disappears back into the bathroom. “I hate the way the taste of the alcohol lingers,” he tosses over his shoulder, by way of explanation.

Brian does not reply. The boy leaves the bathroom door open as he brushes his teeth and Brian watches him from the bed. His eyes are drawn to the delicate slope of the boy’s slender back as he leans over and spits into the sink. Brian’s gaze travels further, to the curve of the boy’s backside. He’s taken off the tight trousers he wore in the club but Brian thinks he likes him even better like this, wearing only underwear under the satiny shirt.

Perhaps there is no immediate rush to feed. Brian is hungry, but there are other hungers to be sated, and it has been a long time.

The boy clearly wants it, at least; when he’s finished in the bathroom he wastes no time in crossing over to the bed and climbing onto it. He settles himself next to Brian and then goes straight in for another kiss without preamble.

He’s interesting, this one; in moments like this he seems so sure of himself, but Brian can read humans better than humans can read themselves, and he knows that’s not entirely the case. There’s an uncertainty lurking beneath this boy’s skin, hidden under thickly painted layers of bravado and brash confidence, and Brian can’t help but find him fascinating.

He lets the boy kiss him, then climbs on top and nudges the boy back into the pillows, one knee parting his thighs. He kneads at the bulge in the boy’s underwear with one hand whilst the other snakes out and takes the lube from the side of the bed.

“Off,” he murmurs, sliding a finger under the waistband of the underwear. The boy complies, breathless already, wriggling his hips and pulling his pants down. He shrugs off his shirt too whilst he’s at it, which Brian has no complaints about.

He takes a moment to enjoy the view before him; the boy is shivering a little in the cool air, but his naked skin is still warm wherever Brian touches him.

He pats the boy’s hip. “Roll over,” he says. “Hands and knees.”

The boy gets into position as instructed and Brian settles himself on his knees behind him. He uncaps the lube and slicks up the fingers of one hand, then uses the other hand to spread the boy open. He squirms as Brian eases a finger into him and Brian has to swallow at the heat of his body. His mind is already dancing ahead to conjure images of how it will feel to bury himself inside the boy’s willing warmth.

Brian works him open in silence, his gaze intent on the way the boy’s body stretches for him. He has three fingers inside the boy when the boy huffs a bit, trying to look over his shoulder, and says, “You’re not very chatty, are you?”

Brian feels a twinge of annoyance. The boy is _too_ chatty. He is half-tempted to use his magic to keep him quiet, but for all that he does not want to _talk_ he does rather want to hear the sweet little noises he is sure the boy will make when Brian has him.

“Concentrating,” he says instead, which makes the boy laugh.

Brian feels ever so slightly nonplussed at that. His bed partners rarely laugh. The ones he brings home to feed upon certainly never do.

He pushes it from his mind, moving back to take off his clothes. The boy fidgets but doesn’t move from his position, which pleases Brian; he obviously understands who is in charge here.

When Brian is ready he slicks up his erection and moves back up to the boy, holding him in place whilst he pushes inside his body. The boy’s breathing quickens and hitches and Brian’s grip on his hips tightens until he’s bottomed out inside him, hips pressed flushed to the boy’s ass.

“Fuck,” the boy mumbles, his shoulders flexing and his head hanging low as he struggles to adjust, “just give me a moment – ”

Brian does as he requests. In truth he needs a moment himself; the boy is hot and tight around him, and the pleasure it sends coursing through Brian’s body makes him want to lean down and bite. He fights off the urge. He will have this particular joy and then he will take the other. He can wait.

“Okay,” the boy says after a few seconds, letting out a long breath, “I’m okay.”

“Good,” says Brian, because he feels the urge to say _something_, and he begins to rock his hips against the boy. He means to start slow but it isn’t long before instinct takes over and he fucks the boy hard and fast until he’s grabbing onto the headboard to support himself against Brian’s thrusts.

Brian was right about one thing; the noises the boy makes, high moans and sweet little yelps, are delicious. Brian wants to devour him. Brian will.

Brian comes first because he is already holding back from biting down on the boy’s neck and it’s too much to hold off from this as well; his fingers dig into the boy’s hips hard enough to bruise as his orgasm rushes through him. For a moment it’s nearly enough to make him forget the bloodlust – nearly, but not quite – and he releases a long content sigh as his mind begins to clear.

He may have his own intentions for the boy’s fate, but it’s not to say Brian is an inconsiderate lover; he reaches under the boy and wraps his fingers around his cock, helping him over the edge until the boy comes too with a cry, shuddering and breathless beneath him.

Brian settles down next to him on the bed whilst he recovers. The boy’s hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks are flushed. He looks tired but sated and something about him awakens an urge long-buried within Brian to protect. He wants to wipe the boy’s body down and draw the duvet over him, send him off to a peaceful sleep without the monster – without Brian – hovering at his back.

He is sweet. Even though Brian is not supposed to feel remorse, he will; he will avoid that club the next time he is in the area, and the next meal he selects will not have sparkling dark eyes or a dimpled smile.

Brian tries, but he has never been very good at being a monster.

None of that changes the fact that Brian is hungry, or that this is his nature. He needs to feed. Remorse or no remorse, it is too late to go and choose a new victim now. If he does not feed, the thirst will prickle at his throat all night long, and he cannot find a replacement in the daylight. He has spent too many days and nights weak with hunger because of hesitations like this.

He leans up on his elbow, feeling his mouth fill with saliva as his eyes return to the boy’s neck. He runs his tongue over his teeth and feels them elongate in preparation.

He is just about to bend over and deliver the bite when the boy yawns and fidgets into a more comfortable position next to him, his dark hair splayed out across Brian’s creamy pillows. Without opening his eyes, the boy says, “It’s Freddie, by the way.”

Brian stills.

“My name,” the boy continues, oblivious. “Freddie.”

Brian closes his eyes. They do not have names. Prey – _meals_ – must not, cannot have names. It is one of the unspoken rules of his people.

“What’s yours?”

Brian has had many names. He does not know what to say.

When he opens his eyes, the boy – _Freddie_ – is looking back at him. A streetlight from outside is reflecting in his dark eyes, full of concern.

“When was the last time somebody asked you that?” Freddie asks softly.

He’s perceptive. Too perceptive. Some part of Brian rails at him for it; wants to take him by the throat and use his life to sustain Brian’s, make him thrash and cry beneath him, punish him for noticing what nobody else has.

Another part wants to drag Freddie back into his clothes and send him out of the door before Brian can hurt him.

“I can always give you a name, if you’d like,” Freddie offers when no answer is forthcoming. He’s smiling, teasing, but there’s no malice behind it.

“Brian,” he says after a long moment. He can’t remember the last time he said his current name aloud.

“Brian,” Freddie repeats. He gives Brian a little smile, a sleepier version of the one he flashed Brian in the club earlier. Again, Brian notices the dimple. Then he yawns again, leaning back into the pillows with obvious intention of going to sleep.

“You should go,” Brian says abruptly.

Freddie looks at him in surprise. For a moment there’s a brief flash of something that Brian can’t quite place, but then he just nods. “Okay.”

With that he slides out of bed and makes his way back into the ensuite. Brian is left blinking on the bed, trying to work out exactly what the expression on Freddie’s face meant.

It wasn’t hurt, or wounded in any way, or even annoyed. No, it was closer to _understanding_, and that’s what unnerves Brian.

It’s not like Freddie can possibly understand what is going on here. But he seems… aware… in a way that others aren’t. Aware of Brian, and the fact that he is not the same as the other men.

When Freddie reappears he’s got his trousers back on and he bends over to pick up his shirt from the floor beside the bed, shrugging it back on and buttoning it up. Brian watches in silence.

He’s still noticing the pulse beating at Freddie’s neck, the way the shimmery material of the shirt stretches over his shoulders and hangs loose at his waist. He knows Freddie’s trousers are hiding the fingerprints Brian has left on his hips. But he keeps his mouth closed and his teeth gritted, his magic coiled tightly under his control.

Freddie steps towards the door and then pauses, looking back at Brian. He offers him a small smile and then lets himself out.

Brian lays back on the bed that still smells like Freddie and listens to Freddie’s footsteps receding into the distance, then the quiet click of the front door opening and closing. His throat burns with thirst and his belly aches, but he can’t quite bring himself to regret it.


End file.
